Goodbye Judy, Hello, Julie.

My best friend's mother died Friday, July 16, 2010 at 5:43 a.m. She had been living in a hospital bed in Julie's living room for the better part of two years, save for the many times she was in the hospital dying and being revived.

She clung to life as long as she possibly could. Even as it became evident that she would never walk again, and eventually, even as it was clear that she was in a vegetative state, she still fought to stay alive.

Judy was in there somewhere still. You wouldn't know it unless you were there to see her reaction each time her daughter would tell her she loved her, then instruct her to blink twice if she loved her back. Judy would then blink over and over and over as hard as she could to make sure that she was seen answering her daughter.

The rest of the time, she seemed to stare off into nothingness. I hope that means that she was peacefully drifting in the clouds, enjoying the background noise of life in her daughter's household. I hope she wasn't in pain. If she was, she had no way of letting us know towards the end.

My friend Julie has had more than her share of heartache lately. Two months ago, the same day that she was asked to make a decision on whether to take her mother off of life support, she had just learned that her daughter's unborn baby was dead. It was going to be a boy.

The decision was eventually made to take her mother off of life support. Much to everyone's surprise, she kept on breathing. By then, it was clear that it was only a matter of prolonging her suffering, but Julie, being the ever-dutiful daughter brought her mother home and cared for her just as she has for the past two years.

I spent some time with Julie Friday, and even though I'm sure she's ready to have her life back once the funeral is over, even though I'm sure sleeping on the couch for the past two years so she can respond to the IV and oxygen alarms going off throughout the night has taken its toll, nobody is ever ready to lose their parents.

Julie is clearly in shock. She says she's fine, acts as though she deals with this sort of thing on a daily basis, and yet, her eyes tell a different story. Her pupils are the pupils of someone who is frozen still. The rest of her behaves as though it's just another ordinary day. Clearly, she's on autopilot. Cracking jokes, she does the laundry and cleans out her mother's medicine drawer. She hands me several bottles of insulin to take to my housemate, who also has diabetes. (Diabeetus. @ScottFilmCritic, that was for you! ;-)

Julie is an amazing human being. If I were a religious person of the Catholic persuasion, I would do everything I could in my power to get her nominated for Saint status. At any given time, there are up to eleven different people hanging out, spending the night, or temporarily living in her home. Relatives and friends deposit their children with her when they are unable to take care of them. Somehow, they know Julie will find room for them.

At less than two months shy of turning 41, Julie has three grown children, two of which have a child/children of their own. She also has a grown adopted son, and a four-year-old girl belonging to a friend of the family whom she has raised since she was an infant.

Julie will tell you that various people she's discussing are her cousin, brother, son, daughter, or various other relatives. The truth is, very few of these people are actually related to her in any way other than the fact that she claims them as part of her family.

I don't think I've ever heard her say one judgmental thing about anyone the entire time I've known her. She might make fun of them with her wisecracking ways, but she doesn't judge them, nor does she seem to think she's better than them.

Julie has never been to jail, but she knows many people who have been. She's been known to keep someone's kids for them while they serve a few days ironing out an assault charge or two. She doesn't get asked to do so, it just sort of happens. She takes it in stride, though it clearly takes its toll. I worry about her.

Perhaps the only reason she's still alive and possesses any level of sanity is that she's hilarious. She keeps herself and others amused with her quick wit and fearless spoofing of the very people and situations that keep her teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Somehow, she makes it work while making it appear effortless.

I remember one instance in particular. Last year, I told her I thought she would make a great comedian. She could easily give Roseanne a run for her money simply by having a camera installed in her home to capture her spontaneous wisecracks. It was then that she informed me that I would have to be the dummy that sits on her lap. A ventriloquist's, dummy, that is.

I asked her if that meant that she'd be sticking her hand up my ass to make me talk. Her mother suddenly began laughing uncontrollably, and the three of us enjoyed an evening of lighthearted fun, Julie and I on the couch, Judy lying in the same hospital bed in her daughter's living room where she would die less than a year later.

I will miss Judy. But I am happy to have my friend back.